


Loss

by CalicoPudding



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Backstory, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Flashbacks, Gen, Graphic Description, Memories, Pre-Stream (Critical Role), Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 10:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15435144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalicoPudding/pseuds/CalicoPudding
Summary: “You’ll always have a home with us, Yasha, don’t doubt that. Besides,” he says, and she can just hear the smile in his voice “I’ll always need your extra bit of charm at my side.”(Rating for profanity and an instance of violence, just playing it safe)





	Loss

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of feelings and I needed to do something with them. This was initially only three pages, but it ended up...more than that.
> 
> True to form, there's a forehead kiss

With a satisfying click, Nott steps back from the picked lock, beaming for a split second before spinning around and leveling her crossbow at one of the slavers. There is combat all around them, whirling motions, spells, weapons, flashes of colors, but it is easy to discern friend from foe in this place.

Yasha takes one step out, scanning her surroundings. 

Jester jumps forward, a spell at her lips, and in a moment, a giant lollipop shimmers into existence. 

Fjord clambers out of the cage, throwing out his hand and summoning his sword, seawater churning from the hilt.

Beau is cracking her staff down over a slaver’s head, flanked by a shorter woman in metal armor. 

Caleb is hiding behind a large, furred woman who resembles Pumat Sol in a removed sort of way. 

Nott looses crossbow bolt before ducking behind a crate close to the wall.

Molly is nowhere to be seen.

He may be up the stairs or out in the hall dealing with other assailants, Yasha knows he can handle himself. She is without her weapon, so she throws her arms around the closest of the vermin. 

She is more than angry.

In the cart, while they couldn’t see, they could hear. She heard a slaughter, heard the violence, knew that her friends were outmatched. She knew someone went down, figured it was Caleb because that’s usually who it is. The voices were muffled, she wasn’t sure who was talking, but an unfamiliar voice preceded the quieting of the battle.

It definitely wasn’t good, but the carts began moving at that point. Even if the group didn’t have Jester, they had healing potions, they would be fine. Jester was crying, and Yasha was more focused on keeping her calm.

When grappling proves too difficult, she throws the slaver at Beau’s assailant, knocking them back. 

Now free for a moment, Beau turns to Yasha, an exhausted smile on her face. 

“That one,” she says, lips suddenly downturned, face gone stern and bitter, “he killed Molly.”

The clash and clamor of battle fades and all Yasha can hear is those last three words, they echo. She freezes, for just a second before turning to follow the line of Beau’s staff. It’s leveled with the bald man who runs this group of motherfuckers, the one that Yasha spit blood at when the slavers made the mistake of removing her gag for a moment. He has taken some blows, spells and weaponry alike it seems but Yasha only has eyes for his face, committing it to memory.

Jester is shaking where she stands, tears cascading down her cheeks before rage contorts her features.

Fjord’s spell flickers out, his eyes wide and mouth open as he takes a stuttering step in the monster’s direction.

Beau is still pointing, heaving in breath and holding back tears, her staff wavering in the air. The woman standing near her looks close to tears as well.

Caleb is frozen midspell, hair falling to hide his downcast face, he stands in front of the strange woman now.

Yasha can’t see Nott, she’s not looking.

And Molly?

Molly is dead.

* * *

 

Yasha sits just outside the light of the campfire, fingers busy with the blades of the grass beneath her. She’d been working a whetstone against her sword up until a moment ago, but there’s only so much maintenance to be done.

And the grass feels nice. 

The others sit close to the flames, they chat and sling light hearted insults at one another that make the whole group go up in fits of laughter. Yasha sat with them for meal time, but moved away as soon as she was done eating.

She looks up occasionally, always alert though she’ll admit to being more comfortable in this band of misfits than she has in a long while. 

The strange one, purple with horns and a tail and a coat so bright that it hurts her eyes, gives her a smile. It should look frightening, all fangs and backlit by the fire, but it only looks kind and warm. He pats the space beside him, the grass covered by a faded square of folded quilt. 

She shakes her head and casts her gaze to the grass once more. She holds that gaze for all of three seconds before she looks up again. 

He’s staring, a grin on his lips, before standing up and shedding his coat.

Yasha tenses as he moves closer, fingers twisting deeper into the grass when she notes that his hands are behind his back. He sits down cross legged, giving her more space than she’s seen him give the others, but less space than she would like. 

He brings his hands in front of him and Yasha relaxes only minutely when she sees the cards. She’s seen him use them before, knows what they’re for.

They’re pretty.

“Mollymauk Tealeaf,” he says. “I know Gustav already introduced me but you’ve got a lot of names to keep track of now. Also, he told me that he wants the two of us sticking together from now on, so I figured I’d introduce myself again.”

“Yasha,” she says.

Cards resting perfectly stacked on his knee, Mollymauk holds out his tattooed hand toward her.

She doesn’t take it.

He only shrugs and picks up his cards.

“You can call me Molly.”

Strange, she thinks, a name to suit its owner.

“I like Mollymauk,” she says instead.

Mollymauk beams and shuffles the cards.

“I do too. Would you like a reading?”

* * *

 

She stands outside a bookshop, eyes forward though she knows people are staring at her. She knows she draws attention, she’s big, and strange in these parts. Mollymauk says that he’s stranger, and as long as they stick together, no one will be looking at her wrong at all. 

Mollymauk is inside, though he doesn’t read so Yasha’s a bit confused as to why he went. 

The shop door was small, and Yasha’s already ducked in enough doorways today.

Plus, Mollymauk said he was getting a surprise.

Whatever that means coming from him.

“Here we are, my dear.”

His voice chimes out from the town rabble, and Yasha turns to look at him. The coat still hurts to look at, but she’s found herself taken with the way the horn jewelry he wears glints in the sunlight.

_ Etiquette _

“Now, let me explain,” he says with that beaming smile of his. “I-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, I understand.”

He hands her the book but his tail is swishing with anticipation.

“Now, wait a minute. I don’t think you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

They begin walking and she starts turning the book over in her hands. It’s not massive, but it feels nicely weighted, and it’s worn. She’s not sure what Mollymauk is going to say, but she’s almost certain it’s not going to be malicious. She knows though, knows that she comes off as rude or angry.

Mollymauk says it’s not her fault.

“Okay.”

“Very good. Now, I don’t care how you act, you know that I find you perfectly charming. However, part of the showmanship business is sales, and sales is equal parts finding marks and making good relationships. The book is an acceptable tarp to blur your wonderfully sharp edges. People are already put off by me, no amount of ‘please and thank you’ is going to change that. But I think there are more folks out there than you realize who’ll like you. And maybe you’ll like them too, I hope so. I just don’t want them,  _ you _ , missing that chance to connect because there’s some faulty communication. Once you’ve got them in, they’ll understand you without all the extra bits.”

Yasha stares.

Mollymauk’s gaze is straight ahead, tail flicking happily, occasionally tapping her back or resting against  her arm. He gestures wildly, the jewelry decorating his body jingling and jangling with his movements. His words are sure, his voice steady.

Yasha holds the book tighter.

Mollymauk does his best for the circus, does his best for her. She sees the book as he intends it.

“Thank you, Molly.”

“You’re very welcome.”

They get all of three steps before he skips ahead to stand in front of her, eyes gleaming and smile wider.

“That’s the first time you’ve called me ‘Molly’.”

Yasha reads the book once, well, reads half of it. She’s a page into a chapter about social cues when a pretty yellow flower catches her eye. She’s never seen a flower like this one, what she has seen, however, is the book of flowers Orna keeps in her tent.

Yasha plucks up the flower and settles it between the pages of the book.

She hides it from Molly, afraid he’ll think she doesn’t appreciate the gift. She does, she truly does, but it’s a lot to remember, and flowers are much nicer to look at.

He walks into her tent one night, jewelry clinking, coat half on.

“-bout to start!”

His eyes drop to the book, to the line of small blue flowers lining the page.

“Oh,” he says without missing a beat, “those are pretty, what are they called?”

“Gustav said they’re forget-me-nots,” her voice is tense, rising from her throat instead of her chest.

“Lovely. We’ll have to find some more before we set out. But come now, we’re about to start tonight’s show!”

Yasha smiles and follows Molly out.

She should have figured as much.

* * *

 

It’s not hard to find the circus again.

She knows the general direction they were heading, and follows the trail of fliers until she finds the bright colors of camp and the whispers of the locals. She could track them in her sleep, they’re not trained in nor are they trying to be stealthy.

They’re a circus.

What worries her is that they won’t take her back. Gustav and Desmond made it clear that the circus is a family, and that they stick together.

Yasha stuck around for as long as she could before she felt like she was going to explode. She took off in the dead of the night, carrying only her sword and flower book. It was supposed to be a walk, she had every intention of returning before morning. Then, a few hours turned into a few weeks.

She feels better now, though it wasn’t like she felt  _ bad _ before. She’s not sure what it was exactly, she’s hoping Molly can work through it with her. If not, well, they’ll probably end up talking about something, they usually do.

The circus is set up a short ways from the hustle and bustle of the town, and she waits for Molly to leave, watches him bark up a crowd for the evening. She catches him in the late afternoon, when he’s out of fliers and only slightly tipsy.

He looks mostly the same, a bit more tired, a lot more worried.

The minute their eyes meet however, that brilliant smile breaks over his lips and he runs to her at full speed. He throws his arms around her, about to try lifting her before he thinks better of it and squeezes her instead.

“Oh, you’re all right, I’m so glad to see you again. Look at you! You have a new scar!”

He’s stepped back some, but his hands are on her arms, resting there as opposed to holding her in place. Not that he could, but it’s the gesture that’s key.

“I-” She’s supposed to apologize, there are words- words in the  _ Etiquette _ book Molly got her. But they’re not coming out.

“Let’s get back to the others,” Molly says, letting his hands fall down her arms until he’s got a soft grip on her fingers, “I told them you’d be back, I think the twins bet money on when.”

She lets herself be tugged along, it takes a few stuttering steps, but she goes with him. 

They walk out of the city in a soft quiet, Molly lets go of one of her hands, but keeps an anchoring grip on the other.

“I’m glad you came back,” he says once the camp is in site. “Even more glad that you’re okay. A little head’s up would have been nice.”

“Sorry,” she blurts out, planting her feet in the dirt. “It might happen again, I don’t know when. But I’ll want to come back, each time, I know that I will...if that’s all right.”

Yasha closes her eyes, waiting on Molly’s reponse.

She feels a hot touch on her cheek instead. Molly adds a bit of pressure, urging her to tilt her head down. He kisses her forehead before drawing in a breath.

“You’ll always have a home with us, Yasha, don’t doubt that. Besides,” he says, and she can just  _ hear _ the smile in his voice “I’ll always need your extra bit of charm at my side.”

* * *

 

Yasha takes one step, then another in the man’s direction.

She cares not for his name, nor for any plea of mercy that may pass his lips when she has her way with him.

He killed Molly.

The rage begins to run its course but she wills it down. She wants, needs, to be clear headed for this. 

Needs to see the light leave his eyes.

Needs to feel the life leave his body.

She doesn’t want to know why he did it, she doesn’t care. All that matters is that he  _ did it. _

He killed Molly.

She passes the short woman, a dwarf, and takes the axe from her without resistance. As she moves, the world moves slowly. From the corner of her eye, she sees Caleb, his hand outstretched toward her, one last arcane word leaving his lips.

She raises the axe once, it slams into the monster’s right shoulder.

She raises the axe twice, it slams into his left shoulder.

She raises the axe a third time and, without blinking, removes his head from his body.

He killed Molly.

The rage takes its place before the grief can consume her.

**Author's Note:**

> Molly's death killed me, but I'm very interested to see Yasha's reaction to the news. So I wanted to put forth my own take before canon happens. Also served as a stress piece, so I'm multi-tasking. Hope you enjoyed this, please let me know what you think!


End file.
